Horn Crown (Witch World: High Hallack Series) (4 page)

“He—he is tame—” I found words which were neither quite statement nor question. This animal had not traveled with her certainly, thus it was a beast of the dales. How had this girl discovered it in so short a time, bent its will to hers?

“Not tame.” She shook her head firmly. “For that would mean that his will is broken to that of man. Such is an abomination with his kin-kind. He recognized that I mean him no harm—that I am a seeker. Perhaps long ago his kind knew other seekers and were friend-kin to them. This is a land rich in much—” Her hands went out in a small gesture as if she would gather to her something proffered which was her life desire. I saw excitement and longing in her eyes then, yes, and a kind of joy which was wild and free. “If we do not take it harshly then we shall be repaid many times over. Only—” Now her eyes turned as fierce as the cat's—"it seems it is not the way of men to do anything but pit their strength and impose their will wherever they go.”

“You—what did you do with the birds?” I did not want to argue with her. Also, I was still angry—a little because she had seen no harm in bending me to her will, though she denied that she would use an animal so, more at the fact that she had brought an end to an attack I had seen no way of countering in so easy a fashion.

“I—no, that is not for the telling, Elron of Garn's House. Let it be that those who live at peace with all living things and do not strive to make them slaves and servants have in turn certain authority they may call upon at then: need.”

“The birds are hardly servants!” I retorted.

“None of ours, no. They are servants, I think, of ancient evil. Perhaps they were once sentries. There is a covey of such also in Tugness's dale—though Zabina is seeking to discover why they watch and where they go—”

I was caught by what might have earlier seemed to me to be sheer fancy. Could birds be trained to spy, to report? If so, to whom did they carry news? Should Garm be warned? I thought I could see already his look of scorn if I advanced such a theory to him.

“Your Wise Woman,” I said, “if she discovers—will she share such knowledge?”

“If it would be necessary for the good of all, yes.” Gathea nodded. “We have seen them watch and fly, but before this they have never tried to attack. What did you do to awaken their rage?”

I was irritated that she would immediately assume that I was the provoker of that very one-sided engagement.

“Nothing but stand here—watch them fly west. They sit most days in the wood to spy upon the loggers, before they scream and fly.”

“So they have done also in Tugness's date. It may be that now they would try their strength. I would warn those you know to take care. They could well worry sheep, even cattle, to their deaths. Take an eye from a man. . .. Look to the mark you bear now.”

She pointed to the sleeved arm I had raised to protect myself at the first attack. The leather was scored and torn.

Before I could answer, she leaped lightly down from the rock on which she had taken her stand. The cat, who had been blinking sleepily, arose. His head was near to her shoulder and she dropped one hand on the thicker fur which nearly formed a ruff at his forequarters.

“Do you go alone? There may be worse than evil birds—” I knew even as I spoke that my words sounded not at all firm as I had intended but rather as a weak warning which she would be likely to meet with the same scorn as Garn might show at my bird story.

“I am in search of that which is strong for what we need,” she answered obliquely. “Zabina has used the Sight, but here there are veilings so one cannot work too much with the Talent for fear of awaking that which is better left to slumber. This land is, in many ways, a trap. We may not have had much choice in our coming, but now we must walk as one does between two armies, both of which are our enemies.”

In spite of myself, she impressed me. We did not remember what had driven us through the Gate (it must have been fear—some disaster which had given us no other choice). Now in spite of the Sword Brothers’ reassurance, I accepted that this land might also have, as she called them, traps, elements that even those scouts and warriors had not yet chanced to discover.

Still we were here and there was no going back. What came to us we must face, with steel if need be, or perhaps by believing in such messages as this Wise Woman's maid had just given me.

She was moving on, and, since her path ran the way of my patrol, I hurried after her. The cat, coming to its feet, padded soft-footedly ahead, pausing now and then to sniff at one of the rocks, though I could see no reason for such interest.

“Have you any of the Old Ones’ places in your dale?”

She had her head up, turned away from me, to gaze straight ahead, and sometimes she paused, looking to her right, her nostrils expanding as if, like the cat, what she sought she could first scent.

“No—nor is it our dale,” she returned with a sharpness which I would not allow to quell my curiosity, or my need to learn more from her—and of her. “We are no clan-kin of Lord Tugness—nor others.” She frowned. “There was a need, thus we went with his people. Whether we remain,” she shrugged, “that will be for the future deciding. Ah—”

She flashed ahead, darting around tumbled rocks, streaking across open spaces with the fleetness of the gray deer which our coming had driven out of the dale. Before her bounded the silver cat, overleaping some of the obstructions she had to round. Because I must discover for myself what had sent her off so eagerly, I pounded after, dropping well back, unable to match her pace, weighed down as I was by my weapons and gear.

Then I realized in what direction she moved. She was heading straight for that small hidden valley of the Moon Shrine. Remembering Garn's orders, I pushed my pace. None were to enter there, he had warned. We were not to explore whatever was made by those who had long gone. But that I could keep Gathea away was a vain hope.

I called out twice. It was as if both she and the cat were deaf; neither turned head nor slowed their pace. By the time I reached the edge of that hidden place, the girl was standing between the two trees which fronted the square. Her hands were pressed tight to her breast, her eyes flexed upon the pavement, as if it enshrined some great wonder visible to her alone.

Behind her crouched the cat, this time its eyes were not half closed, but alert, also watching.

Gathea took a step forward.

“No!” I raised my voice, tried to leap over the rim, to forestall her before she ventured onto the pavement.

I tried to leap, only to sprawl backward in a tumble of limbs and body, the crossbow flying away, myself kicking to regain my balance as might a beetle which has been turned on its back.

I scrambled to my knees, flung out an arm ahead. I might have driven my fist against a wall of the same rock as lay all about. There was a barrier there—one I could neither see nor force. Now I used the fingertips of both hands, feeling up and up until I stood once more. Both my hands ran across something—something which held me out yet appeared to have let Gathea past.

When I looked down I saw her standing just on the edge of the square. To her right was lifted on the pillar that dark disc, to her left one of brilliant blue. Her eyes were still fixed in that stare and I watched her lips again move in soundless speech.

Slowly she went down to her knees, her hands sweeping out, her head bowed forward, as if she paid the most formal of homage to some great lord. Petals still drifted through the air; several fell to lie upon her head.

Her hands moved once more as she gently swept some of those which lay upon the pavement, gathering them into the hollow of her right palm. Once more her head lifted so I could see her face. Her eyes were closed and she had a listening look as if she heard some message of import which she must remember and deliver to another.

Again she bowed, but this time she held against her heart the palmful of petals. Then she arose, and, at the same time that she turned away, like one who had completed a task, the surface against which my hands had been pressed vanished.

I pushed again farther on—to encounter nothing. Still I did not leap down into the dell as I had planned to do. Here, that would have seemed more than discourtesy—an outrage of a sort. I shook my head, trying to free it of such fancies. Only I knew that these were no fancies, that what I thought was real. I dared not intrude upon the Moon Shrine, though there was no threat of evil, merely the realization that it was not for such as me. Tramping in, I would break some beautiful thing which was precious beyond my imagining.

Now I lingered for Gathea to rejoin me and it was not until she was some distance away that I understood she was headed south. Apparently she had no intention of sharing a path any farther. The cat followed her for a space, while I stood and watched her, uncertain of what to do or say.

Then that silver body again flashed up into the air in a graceful leap as the cat left her, heading westward and south, apparently seeking its own way along the rim of the other dale. I remained alone as Gathea walked steadily forward, and not once did she look back or speak any farewell.

When I finally realized that she was on her way back to her mistress I started my patrol once more. How much of what had happened would I report? Never before had I thought to conceal from Garn any part of what I had seen. Only this time I had a feeling that what I had just witnessed had not only been no business of mine, but also it was not for Garn's prying. For he might possibly order perhaps even the destruction of the Moon Shrine (yes, that crossed my mind). He detested, I well knew by now, all elements of the unknown that could not be met by physical force, and he would be angry that Gathea had manifestly found something here of power. I had, too. That invisible wall which had held for awhile was certainly no dream.

The birds, yes, of those I would tell him. For it might be as Gathea had warned, those could turn against us and our animals. So we would have to be forewarned and forearmed against that danger.

Thus was carefully building up my report as I made my way back down to the dale. At the same time I also longed to know what had been present in the moon shrine Gathea had paid homage to—and what other things might be found in this land—of good or ill—if one was free to go seeking such.

4.

Though I was first to meet the hostility of the birds, I was not the last. As we cut deeper into the wood, brought out more trimmed trees to be used for the building of a long hall to shelter our small clan for at least a season, the birds gathered more thickly about the scene of our labors. Then the children who had the herding of our few sheep raised shouts of alarm, and went in, flailing with staffs, to keep deadly beaks from six newborn lambs upon whose lives depended much future promise.

Finally Garn had to withdraw men from necessary labor to use hunters’ bows and keep watch with the herd. The birds appeared to have uncanny skill in avoiding even the best of our marksmen. Thus tempers grew ragged, Garn's cold displeasure ever present, as what had seemed a petty thing grew into a constant threat.

It was not until we had thinned the trees which were the strongest and the most likely to serve as good building material that we found at last what was perhaps the reason for that baffling attack. For when one morning a giant fell beneath our axes it took with it a mass of creeper already well in leaf, flattened thick brush, to show us that the Moon Shrine was not after all the only relic of the Old Ones in our chosen dale.

Again pillars stood, having avoided the flattening of whatever had screened them, as if they had power to hold away the tree. There were seven of these, near the height of Garn himself, placed closely together so that perhaps only a hand might be slipped between the column of one and the next.

Unlike the rocks of the ridges which formed our boundaries these were of a dull yellow stone, oddly un-pleasing to the eye. Also their surfaces had a smooth look in spite of what must have been long exposure to plants, wind and rain, reminding one of a foul mud frozen into shape. Each of them bore, halfway down one side, an incised panel on which was carved a single symbol, all differing one from the other.

When our clearing exposed these to the sun there was an instant boiling up of the birds whose cries and circling of the workers were so threatening that Garn gave an order to fall back, leaving our laboriously axed tree lying where it had fallen for the time being.

Luckily, as we thought then, the birds kept up their clamor, their low flights, only for a short time. Then they flocked together, winging their way west, paying no more attention to what had been wrought. Nor did they return. Thus after three days of freedom from their noisome company Garn ordered the tree to be brought out by the aid of our horses. He did not need to warn any against going near those pillars, nor did we cut any more in that direction. We all by now disliked the sight of such relics.

The heavy work of plowing the first fields was complete, our carefully hoarded seed sown. Still we, fieldmen and kin alike, were not easy in our minds until the first sprouts showed, proving that what we had brought with us had indeed taken root in this alien soil. Now, sparing disasters only too well known to those who till the fields, we would not lack for a crop this season, small though that might be.

Some of the women, under the eye of Fastafsa, the Lady Iynne's old nurse, now keeper of the house for Garn, sought out other growing things. There were berries beginning to ripen, and certain herbs which the women recognized as stuff fit for the pot. Those stars over our heads might be strange, but this country seemed in some ways like the land from which we had come.

We had the walls of the hall raised -- not of stone, rather logs dressed to the best of our ability. This first shelter was one long building, which was partitioned to serve the families of the clan: a wide central space where we might eat together as did all kin and clan, at high and low tables. There were wide fireplaces at either end of the building and a third at the side of the hall, these cunningly constructed by Stigg's orders fom specially selected stones taken from the stream bottom where water had washed them smooth. When the roof of poles, cut and well fastened to three long central beams, supported within by firm pillars, was complete, we had a small feasting to celebrate the completion of our first shelter. Stigg's youngest son was chosen to climb and fasten to the roof peak that bunch of lucky herbs the women had prepared.

For the flock and the herd, their numbers being small, we set up pole shelters. As yet we did not know how severe the ice months might be in this new land. Mean-while, the building being over, those of us who had hunters’ skills went out daily to bring in what we could of meat to be smoked over fires carefully tended for that purpose. There were fish to be taken, too, and enough were netted to fill several barrels.

In that time of steady labor we saw no others except those of our own clan. I had half expected the Sword Brothers to return. Yet none came, nor did any of Tugness's people make the journey across ridges to see how we might fare. Still, each time I patrolled in the heights -- as Garn still continued to have us do -- I would pause by the Moon Shrine and search for some sign that Gathea had been there.

The blossoms of spring were long since gone, and the trees about that pavement grew leaves strange to me. These were of a darker green than usual and very, very glossy; also they were vined with a color which showed as blue in the full sunlight as the symbols left by the long-vanished builders.

Twice I surprised Iynne there, gazing into the shrine as if she sought something. Each time she appeared startled by my coming. At the first such meeting she begged me not to speak of her seeking this place. It was wrong but I obeyed her wishes, not because Garn's daughter was any I might look upon as heart-lady, for we were too close kin and had been more as brother-sister for most of our lives.

Still, her secret visits to this place bothered me. Firstly Iynne was not such as went adventuring. By nature she had always been a shy and timid girl, one who found quiet pleasure in women's tasks within the keep. She was very clever with her needle, and near as good as old Fastafsa herself at brewing and baking, the ordering of a household.

I knew that Garn had sworn her hand to the second son of Lord Farkon. An excellent match, one which would bring Garn and all the kin a strong backing. Though as yet the time for Flame and Cup had not been set. We of the kin did not wed by choice, rather to further the good of our House and it was much a matter of fortune how matters went after we had come to the marriage bed.

The field people were freer, though still there was sometimes hurt and suffering because one sire or another would arrange a union to make sure that there was some small advantage for both households. Once or twice I had seen Iynne at the handfasting of some field girl, watching intently the smiling face of the bride. Did she ever think of the long journey down coast which would come in due time after which she might not ever see again this dale which her father governed?

We did not talk of such things; it was against custom, but I believed that Iynne's sweet face and quiet, competent ways must earn her a favored place in any keep to which she would go. I had seen Lord Farkon's son—a tall young man, comely enough, having both his father's favor and his brother's liking, an unusual combination among our people—so I believed she should be one of the fortunate ones in the end.

Why she now broke with all the rules of our people to steal away secretly to this place she did not tell me, though I asked. All she would reply was that she had to. Then she was confused and near weeping so I did not push her further, though I warned her against danger and tried to make her promise that she would not venture so again.

Each time she did so, swearing so vehemently that I believed her. Still I would find her there crouched at the edge of the pavement as though she were at the door of a chamber she would enter but had not yet the courage to attempt. The second time I told her that I could no longer believe her promise, that I would speak to Fastafsa to make sure that she was warded within the dale and could not slip away without the knowledge of the women. That day she cried, slowly and pitifully, as one who is bereft of a treasure for which there is no substitute. She did obey me, but so drearly that I felt a brutal overlord, though what I had done was to protect her.

The bite of fall was in the air soon after we completed the keep. Together kin and clan labored as one to hurry the harvest. Our seed had done well in this virgin soil. Stigg beamed at an ingathering which was more than he had hoped, as he said again and again—already making plans for the breaking of new fields in the next planting season.

Hewlin, during a hunting expedition at the far western end of the dale, came upon, at about the same time, a third sign that this land had once had other lords and people. For he followed the thread of our stream between those high cliffs, to discover a second and wider stretch of open land. There he had found trees heavy with fruit— what the birds and a type of wild boar had not already harvested. There was no mistaking that these had been planted, for they stood in order, with here and there a gap where one had died, leaving only a worm-eaten stump.

We went in a party to harvest what was left of that crop: Fastafsa and her women, Everad, I, and three of the household armsmen. Iynne did not choose to join us, saying that she did not feel well. Fastafsa left her bedded in one of the kin rooms of the keep.

We made a two-day journey of it since the passage up the cliff-walled stream was not too easy. In spring, if the waters arose as they must do, this way would be totally closed, I believed, noticing the high marking of past floods on the walls.

Once there we worked steadily. The armsmen ever on guard, the rest carrying and emptying baskets while Everad and I made short explorations into this second dale, seeing land which held excellent promise for our own future, advantages which would come if we could persuade Garn to expand our holding in this direction.

Save for that orchard of the past we found no other sigh of the Old Ones, which was reassuring. Neither were there any birds here to raise grim warning. By the morning of the third day we were up early, ready to return down-stream, each taking a hand with the loaded hampers, so that there were always two men free with sword and crossbow. It would seem that in us there was always a deep uneasiness, no matter how fair or pleasant or open this country—as if we dwelt on the border of some enemy land. I found myself wondering why this was so. Except for the venture of the birds—and those were long gone— we had come across nothing threatening here. Yet we went as if we ever expected a surprise attack.

We returned to trouble, as if that which we had unconsciously feared had at last gathered force enough to strike full and hard. Hewlin came spurring his mount straight for us, well armored and in full war gear. At the sight, we men drew together, the women huddled behind us, suddenly silent where moments before there had been light laughter and singing.

The marshal of Garn's force drew rein, his sharp eyes flickering over us as if he sought one who was not there.

“The Lady Iynne,” he pulled up before Everad, “she has not been with you?”

“No—but she was ill—she said—Fastafsa!” Everad turned his head to the house mistress who now pushed forward, her eyes wide, her face pale beneath the usual ruddy color.

“My lady—what do you say of her?” She elbowed past Everad, spoke to Hewlin with force and fierceness. “She was in the keep—I gave her a sleep draught before I went. With Trudas to sit near and see to her. What have you done with her?”

“She is gone. She told the maid that she felt better, asked her to get her a wallet of food and said that they would both take after you. When the girl returned—our lady was gone!”

At that moment my own guilt stung me. I could think of one place where Iynne might have gone. But if she had vanished just after we had left, then she must have been lost for a night and a day! I had only one duty and that was now to tell what I knew and take the consequences.

When I faced Garn I knew that my life rested in his hands—yet that was as nothing when I thought of Iynne exposed to such as the cat which Gathea might choose as a trail mate but which my cousin could certainly not hold in mastery. Thus I spoke clearly of what I had seen—of the Moon Shrine and Iynne's seeking it out secretly.

I saw Garn's fist rise, encased in a metal enforced glove. And I stood unresisting the blow which sent me sprawling, the taste of my own blood in my mouth. His hand flashed to his sword. He had that half drawn as I lay before him, making no defense. It was his right to slit my throat if he desired that in payment. For I was foresworn to my lord, and had broken blood-bond—as everyone who circled about us knew. Duty holds to one's lord and is our strongest law. To break that makes one kinless and clanless.

He turned on his heel then, as if I were not worth the killing, bellowing orders to those who were still his household. They left me as if in that moment I had lost existence, as, in a manner of long custom, I had.

I levered myself up, my head still spinning from that blow. Yet worse than any blow which Garn could give with his hand, was that which had come from my own treachery to my lord. There was no life here for me anymore; I could expect none to acknowledge me.

When I pulled to my feet I watched them start for that slope climbing to the Moon Shrine. Somehow I was also certain that they would not find Iynne there. Though I was foresworn and now clan-kin-dead there was one small thing left for me.

Nothing would return me to life in Garn's eyes, or in those of the clan. Still I lived, though I would rather that my lord had taken the lesser revenge and killed me, as his face showed that he had first thought to do. No, I could not turn back time and do as I should have done, but there was perhaps one way I could aid Iynne.

I had, in my blurting out concerning the Moon Shrine and her secret visits there, said nothing of Gathea, being too full of my own careless and disastrous action. If I could now reach the Wise Woman and her maid (they knew far more of the shrine than any of us, of that I was sure) there was a thin chance I might discover a trail to my cousin.